Men's voices drift from outside, but I can't make out what they're saying. As I think of what's to come, the voices I hear and who I'm about to meet, my hands shake. Several more minutes pass before the carriage door opens. I blink against the light. Father pokes his head inside, shielding us from some of it. One glimpse of me and he leans farther away. I must look as ill as I feel.
“Best behavior. Particularly you, Serena.” His voice is a gruff whisper. “Remember what's at stake.”
For him it's gaining the right son-in-law. Nothing to do with the fact I'm about to meet my new owner. Why does it even matter? It's not like I can be returned like goods at a shop. I'm bought and paid for, no matter what. Unless of course I'm found unvirtuous.
I stare at my gloved hands. I'm trying to keep from being sick, but Father must take it as acceptance because he leaves. Fresh air whirls in. I stay in place, letting my stomach calm. Cynthia tames a few of my locks back with a pin from her pocket.
“You brought hair pins?” I ask.
“Bethany said you would need them.”
Taking care of me is such a Bethany-like thing to do, my trembling eases a little. Out of all my thirteen sisters I'll miss her the most. Tears threaten, but I push them away with a glance at Cynthia. We look nothing alike. Her blonde curls are still forced into the tight knot at the back of her head. Green eyes, big and full of life against the pale face paint. Her reddened mouth purses as she fixes another of my stray hairs.
In contrast, my dark hair never stays in place, even though it's straight and not curly like hers. My brown eyes always seem so dull, the few glimpses I've had of them. But the face paint is the same. Of course we have to wear it and follow the Woman's Canon. Mother wouldn't have it any other way.
Cynthia nudges me. If only we were at the house instead of here. Even classes filled with endless dronings about the Woman's Canon and how we must live up to it sound better than meeting the warlock who now owns me. I take one last deep breath and exit the carriage. Despite the circumstances, I try to muster as much grace as I can.
The house is bigger than Father's. Three stories of gray stone, ivy creeping up one side. Bushes cluster around the house reaching the bottom of the windows. Servants line the stairs, at the bottom of which Father is talking to a man who is perhaps five years older than me. Thomas? Taller than me, but about half Father's weight. Golden eyes. No blemishes on his face, though his nose has been broken at least once.
Mine looked like that after I'd been particularly outspoken. When I lived with it for a week, Father fixed it. Said warlocks would reject me with a nose like that. I wonder why this warlock didn't fix his with magic. It does make him handsome, in a fierce sort of way.
I brush my hands across my dark, wool dress, overly aware of my travel-worn state. Father can't truly fault me for it, but he may nevertheless. Once Cynthia departs the carriage, she slides next me. Together, we walk toward the men.
Motioning at me, Father says, “Thomas, this is your new property.”
Thomas bends over my extended hand to kiss it. A tremor of dread starts where his lips touch my glove and travels through me. Not letting go, he straightens. His eyes roam over me. I force my smile to stay, though I'd prefer to glower. No man has ever leered at me in such a way. A chill fans through me. I want an extra wrap. Or three.
“Enchanted. I don't mind getting married, but I believe marriage to this one will make duty a pleasure.”
Even through the shield of my glove, his touch makes my insides balk. I yank my hand from his, as politely as I can, and mask my features. Father scowls. Apparently, not polite enough.
“Glad to hear it.” Father slaps him on the back. “Wouldn't want it any other way. The other is my second eldest. Turns seventeen in eleven months.”
Thomas's gaze leaves me in favor of my sister, for which I am grateful. As he grabs her extended hand and places a kiss on it, the bit of gratitude I felt flees. He shouldn't be touching my sister.
“She's also lovely. I know you mourn not having sons, but if these two are any indication of your other daughters, you have outstanding stock. You'll be rich from the sell of them. If her blood is as potent as her sister's, I hope they pass the multi-wives law before her birthday.”
Cynthia giggles prettily. The sound makes me feel as if my carriage sickness is returning in full force.
Father chuckles. “With your lineage and power, I'm sure you'd do the law justice. I'll be pulling for it myself. If it had passed years ago, I might have been able to get a son.”
“Then I hope it passes. There may still be.” He winks at me. Though it takes effort, I manage not to glare back. What I can't stop is the chill crawling through me.
His arm drapes around my waist and he pulls me toward massive front doors. He calls over his shoulder to Father. “You must be tired from your travels. I'll have servants attend you, Stephen. Dinner is at seven.”